


All Work and No Play

by orphan_account



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time to put that unlimited text message plan to good use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Work and No Play

With November 5 steadily approaching, Nathan Petrelli had been putting more and more hours into the campaign -- and he still had his work as the Attorney General to consider, as well. New York City was a busy place filled with busy criminals, and they certainly hadn't been letting up just because Nathan was working on an election. He had been working at this case for quite some time -- so long that the rest of the campaign office was empty, and he sat in the office with his desk lamp lighting up just enough for him to see the files he'd been reading, a legal pad and pen off to the side for note-taking purposes. He'd been pouring over books for a case precedent, and he was pretty sure he'd found some things from the New York Supreme Court, but the constitutional interpretation was a bit dated. He frowned, sucking a bit at the end of the pen. It was much too nice to chew on.

It was then that Nathan's phone, sitting off to the side of the desk, illuminated and vibrated. Nathan sighed. It was his big bad communication phone -- the phone Nathan had bought specifically for use in the campaign, when he would need access to text messages and email on the go. And it was good, because Nathan had never really been good at the T9 texting system -- a full keyboard (like the one on his Treo) was good. Of course, he still had the old slider phone he used for things like family calls and the like, but this one was, mainly, his business phone, and people had been instructed to always text that one -- the flip phone didn't even have a text message plan on it, anymore.

He sighed, setting down his pen, and reached for the Treo, grabbing it and pulling up the text message menu. It was from Peter. Nathan frowned, checking the time on the upper right hand corner of the screen -- it was already 9:30. What was Peter doing texting him at that time?

The text was simple: _where are you?_

Nathan frowned. Of course. It wasn't surprising that Peter had texted him. The two had had plans to go out for dinner at some swanky new place that had opened, and at the last minute Nathan had gotten a call from an assistant that a new case had come in and he'd had to bail. Nathan hadn't even really gotten a chance to call Peter to tell him -- instead, he'd sent the man a text message saying _"I know we had plans, but something came up. I've got to stay at the office. Got a new case. Probably be here all night. Sorry, Pete. Rain check?"_. Peter had replied, a sort of genial _"always your work, i understand, but don't end up going with somebody else"_ and that had really been the end of it. Until now, of course.

Nathan paused, glancing towards his work. He supposed he could take the time to answer.

 _I'm still here at the office, working just like I said I would be. And yourself?_

It seemed a little weird, in Nathan's opinion, for Peter to text him about it hours later, but he had decided a long time ago that Peter didn't make any sense. Nathan set the phone back on the desk and turned back to his book.

Just as he broke into the first paragraph, the phone vibrated again. Nathan sighed, grabbing it.

 _working hard?_

Nathan almost had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

 _I'm very busy, Peter. Is there anything specific that you needed?_

He set the phone back down a little harder than before, turning back to his book. The precedent case had been quite a while ago, but if Nathan could figure out the right spin to put on his delivery...

His Treo vibrated again. The motion of picking up the phone and going to the text message menu was fluid, almost automatic, and Nathan glanced down at the screen.

 _i can think of a lot of specific things._

Nathan frowned. What kind of a reply was that? He was about to set the phone down without response when a second message came through.

 _like your cock in my mouth._

Nathan sat there, staring down at the phone, at first entirely unable to register exactly what was happening. He stared down at the words, his throat seeming to dry almost instantly. Sure, he and Peter had been close -- this intimacy wasn't new. But _Peter_ , his little brother, talking this way? That was definitely an interesting change of pace.

Nathan had to remind himself that he was _working_ , and that the case of a man hijacking a printing press to publish anti-religious pamphlets was _not_ a particularly rousing one by any stretch of the imagination.

Maybe if he didn't reply, Peter would stop there. Nathan deleted the text message -- and then, on second thought, all the rest from Peter in his inbox -- and set the phone back down.

It was almost a full minute before the phone vibrated again.

 _don't like that one? i can think of others. like my hands on your skin, rubbing down your body. taking your clothes off slowly while you just sit there and enjoy it. i'd have to start by loosening your tie and getting that collar away from your neck. i think that's where my mouth needs to be._

Nathan took in a breath, staring down at his phone blankly. The campaign rush hadn't just been putting his life with Heidi and the kids on hold -- he hadn't seen a whole lot of Peter, either. Except when the kid was coming into the office to proclaim he could fly, or getting himself jailed in Texas.

"Goddamnit, Peter," he said aloud, deleting the message. He composed a brand-new one -- he absolutely would not hit reply to that -- and began to type.

 _Peter. I am very, very busy._ He lingered on it for a moment before he hit send.

A reply came almost too quickly.

 _don't worry. i'll be fast. once all those clothes are off we'll just take a little time to let you relax. you work too hard. you should let it all out. you're alone, aren't you? nobody else there?_

Nathan hesitated. This time, he replied.

 _Yes, I am, lucky for you._

He stared blankly down at the text of the book he'd been skimming, waiting for a reply. Nathan hadn't really been thinking about what he'd been doing when the reply came in -- it was such a natural movement to rest his hand in his lap, phone in hand, but when the text came, sending a hard pulse of vibration through Nathan's hand and up his thigh, he shivered, letting out a small breath of surprise.

Trying to shake the thought from his mind, Nathan quickly pulled up Peter's text message.

 _good. then my hands are going to wander down your body. touching you everywhere. i'll take your cock in my hand and i'll work it until it's hard. that shouldn't take too long._

Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a soft puff of air.

Send to trash, permanently delete, compose new message.

 _Stop that, Peter. What if somebody were to find a copy of these texts? Electronic records of public officials' communications can be subpoenaed, I hope you know. And wouldn't these just look lovely in a court of law?_

Nathan was bluffing a bit -- he hadn't actually heard a law stating that digital communication could be subpoenaed on anybody but the President, but Peter didn't know that, and he didn't need to.

This time, Nathan rested the phone in his lap again.

 _i'm hard, too. hard just thinking about you. i can't stop thinking about you. and i can't satisfy myself. it's just too much. i need your hands. so i'll keep touching you, as long as you take my clothes off._

Peter, Nathan decided, was so unbelievably stubborn. But the realization that Peter was in fact hard for him was making Nathan feel a little lightheaded and very, very self-important. Certainly, the case of _The State of New York v. Schreiber_ was not very interesting at all. Nathan was much more interested in the thought of Peter's hand on his cock, in the thought of himself, naked in his desk chair with Peter on his lap, Nathan pulling his clothes off while Peter touched him everywhere, probably panting, gasping, saying Nathan's name under his breath. Peter turned into jelly in Nathan's hands. He always had. He _always_ would.

 _We shouldn't be doing this here_ , Nathan texted in return. For once, he was actually responding in a very roundabout way to Peter's... abundantly inappropriate monologue.

 _nobody will see us. you'd get a better look if you had me sit on your desk for you. front row seat. do you want to watch me touch myself thinking about you? i think i'd do it even if you didn't ask. i couldn't help myself._

Jesus. Nathan stared at the message, his face almost flushing. Peter had never been quite this _shameless_ before, and quite frankly, Nathan was beginning to enjoy it. Before he even realized it, he'd sent a reply.

 _That's because you're a slut._

There was a pause as Nathan stared down at the conversation. He hadn't deleted anything in a while, and looking at the messages now was making him wish he hadn't deleted any of them just yet. He switched his phone quickly to the opposite hand, using his right to untuck his shirt and unclip the belt, letting it hang from the loops. He quickly unpopped the button from its hole and lowered the zipper, his hand moving into the warmth of his pants, down the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and over his erection. Nathan's fingers worked just slow enough to feel good -- he didn't want to move too fast and lose it already.

 _i'm your slut, nathan_ , Peter replied. The pause between messages had been long enough for Nathan to know that he'd given Peter a little shock. Mission accomplished. Nathan wondered what Peter thought to have his own game turned on him. Before Nathan could quite reply, Peter sent a second message. _and i'd really like you to fuck me._

Nathan almost laughed -- not what he'd call a humored laugh, exactly, but a laugh just the same.

 _I don't think so, Pete_ , he replied. _Not quite so fast. You'll have to at least come for me, first._

The texts were taking a little longer to come in, now. Nathan's hand moved down his cock, running fingers across the most sensitive parts. Peter knew all those parts -- he knew all of Nathan's secrets. Nobody knew Nathan quite like Peter did. Nobody.

And, at the same time, Nathan was pretty damn sure he knew Peter. And he was pretty sure Peter was touching himself, too, cell phone in one hand, sprawled on his bed with the window open, pants and underwear completely discarded on the floor, his free hand moving up and down his torso. Peter never just jerked off when he was just starting to get into it -- he would always let his hand explore his whole body, starting on his stomach, moving down over pale skin in a sweeping motion, down his hips, across his cock, past it and to his thighs and back up, circling. Eventually Peter's breathing would get heavier and his heartbeat faster and he would start spending less time on the rest of his body until he finally would curl fingers around his cock and--

The text message came and Nathan's eyes darted back to the phone.

 _i will, as soon as you hook your arm around me. look me in the eye and say my name. i want to hear you say it. then i'll come._

Nathan let out a breath. His hand moved a little faster -- not something he'd intended, but certainly something he noticed. His eyes shut and his head fell against the back of the chair.

"Peter," he gasped, quietly, and, when he got the opportunity, that was what he texted back -- the one word that Peter wanted to see.

For a long time, there was no response. Nathan's hand slowed on his cock, thinking of Peter, thinking of the well-known sight of Peter jerking himself off, gripping onto Nathan's shoulder with the other hand, his face twisted into something so wanton and wild that it drove Nathan crazy to see it. Peter's body would quiver with each upstroke, and he'd gasp Nathan's name, sometimes in broken syllables, and Nathan couldn't think of a more beautiful sound than Peter crying his name when he came, his body going rigid, his fingers digging into Nathan's shoulder so hard that it would be protesting if he could be bothered to pay attention to his _own_ body instead of Peter's.

Peter would gasp for a while, trying the regulate his breathing, before he would remember the cell phone, remember that Nathan was on the other end, and he would text his reply. And it came just as Nathan had predicted.

 _touch yourself and think about fucking me._

Peter didn't have to tell him twice.

Nathan knew exactly how it would happen. He would hold Peter down -- Peter was too weak to protest at this point, his orgasm had ripped through him less than a minute before and Nathan didn't want to waste any time -- and he would take the lube from Peter's bedside table and put some on his fingers. Peter would have his eyes closed, but when Nathan pushed his fore and middle finger in, Peter would whimper. His legs would spread, but he would whisper something about wanting Nathan's cock instead, and Nathan would smirk and tell him to wait patiently, because God knew he was. Nathan's fingers would move in and out of Peter's body, a little harder than they needed to, and Peter would tense and relax at the strangest times, and when Nathan would pull his fingers out, Peter would whimper again, whimper for Nathan to fuck him, for Nathan to take him.

And Nathan would.

 _You wish I was there to fuck you_ , Nathan texted in return. _You wish you could make me listen to you beg for me to fuck you like the good little slut you are._

Peter replied much quicker this time.

 _i am your slut, nathan._ That was what he always said.

"Fuck, Peter," Nathan gasped, his hand moving faster. His other hand went limp, nearly dropping the cell phone to the floor. He relaxed into the chair, his arm pumping, thinking of Peter, of every image he had stored in his head of Peter gasping and panting, of Peter being his. Nathan had plenty of those.

His back arched, feet planted hard on the office floor, his body jerking with each movement. He was so close to orgasm -- _so_ close, and if Peter were there, Nathan knew he would have lost it already. His eyes shut tighter and he focused on Peter's voice, on the low whisper, the deep, husky quality of his voice that he reserved just for Nathan. He thought of the first time Peter had gasped and spread his legs, subconsciously, and how Nathan's eyes had widened and he'd called Peter a "slut" without even thinking about it, and Peter's eyes had widened, too--

"Maybe," Peter had said, "but I'm only _your_ slut, Nathan--"

And Nathan came, gasping Peter's name, his body shaking. He didn't notice he'd been suspended five inches off his chair until he lost control and feel back into it, shaking, his body riding out the rest of the shockwave.

Nathan gasped, sitting there for a long moment, not wanting to move.

Outside the small room that had been designated Nathan's office, Peter stood, just outside one of the wide windows, watching Nathan through the blinds. Maybe Claude had been right -- maybe it was interesting to watch other people after all.


End file.
